The Final Enemy
by The Jen'ari
Summary: The end was reached, the Master of Darkness stands triumphant, but he stands alone. Everything he's ever known, everything he's ever loved, is gone. Buried beneath the ashes of his final war. Uniting together seven of the world's most powerful artifacts, he seizes a second chance to make things right, and this time, he will make the rules. ((Harem Warning, Adult Content Warning))
1. Adrift Among Time

Full Summary: The end was reached, the Master of Darkness stands triumphant, but he stands alone. Everything he's ever known, everything he's ever loved, is gone. Buried beneath the ashes of his final war. Uniting together seven of the world's most powerful artifacts, he seizes a second chance to make things right, and this time, he will make the rules.

This story is the culmination of all the experiments performed by both myself, and The Dark Lord Andros. It is somewhat of a crossover story with Star Wars, but not in the "traditional" sense of crossovers. It will feature a very dark plot and quite a bit of heavy mature content.

I hope you enjoy.

The Jen'ari

* * *

"Eternity has fallen. But from the ashes of creation, a new age shall dawn." Standing in the ruins of what had once been the atrium of the Ministry Of Magic, a cloaked man whispered softly to himself as he slowly circled through the battle torn room.

Looking around slowly, his face obscured by shadows swirling within the hood of his cloak, the man seemed to slump slightly. The weight of a great pain unknown by any other upon his shoulders. As his hooded face turned to gaze upon the dried and shattered pool of the Magical Brethren's Fountain, he let loose a somber and mournful sigh, the bottom few inches of his cloak slowly gathering the ashes and shattered glass upon the floor as he moved.

"We knew we faced extinction, and this is where we made our final stand. Not against the forces of darkness, but of destruction itself. Chaos, anarchy, disorder, of all the enemies we faced, the ones that were our downfall were those we unleashed upon ourselves." Reaching up as he stopped in front of what had once been the receptionist's desk, the man wrapped long skeletal fingers around the edges of his hood and slowly lowered it to reveal a sunken and hollow face.

Green eyes that had once been vibrant and full of life sweeped across the carnage, a scar which once had stood out fiercely with its lightning bolt shape was dull and faded, and hair which once had been raven black and free standing with a life of its own, now lay dull grey and lifeless. Harry Potter was the visage of a beaten man.

Turning, Harry came to an abrupt halt as his eyes fell upon a badly charred skeleton, threadbare green robes still hanging upon the ruined bones, a badly scorched yew wand still clenched in the long fingers of the long dead hand. "My old friend..."

Raising a hand, Harry watched as the rubble around the skeleton began to pile upon itself, stacking and smoothing over to form a burial mound over the long dead body, the stones smoothing over completely into a solid slab of marble. With a saddened expression, he gave a flick of his wrist and watched as words carved into the stone. 'Here lies the greatest sorcerer in the world.'

"My one chance lies below, "The final enemy which shall be defeated." But do I dare risk making the same mistakes twice?" Looking sadly upon the faded and broken lift as he turned, he spoke once more to the shadows around him, seemingly at peace with speaking to no one. "What would you have me do Mentor?"

No answer came forth, not that it had been expected, and so with a heavy heart, Harry Potter boarded the damaged lift and pulled a pale wand from within his robe, the knotted wood seemingly absorbing the few rays of light flickering into the ruined atrium. Holding the Elder Wand in front of him, the former Boy-Who-Lived watched as its magic seeped out in accordance with his will, seeping into the lift and causing the contraption to lurch into a controlled fall before stopping with a rough jerk as a mechanical voice croaked and crackled.

"D-d-d-departm-m-ment of M-m-m-m-myster-er-er-eries."

Moving out of the lift, Harry found himself standing in the long dark hallway that had at one time guarded the greatest secrets of the Ministry. But now, as he looked around, he saw only ruin. Walls were held up by crumbling stone, torches had been wrenched free and now lay upon the shattered tile floor coated in dust, and the famous stark black door at the far end lay in splinters, blasted off its hinges in the final battle.

Moving through the damaged hall quickly, Harry brushed through the Hall Of Choices and came to an abrupt halt inside the Death Chamber. Staring at the veil, he couldn't fight the shiver that wracked his body as he held his hand up. Still clenching the Elder Wand tightly in his fingers, he held his arm out and smiled as the black stone set within his silver ring flared brightly in time with the wand before a mass of silvery mist rose out of the Peverell sigil and formed into the roguish image of Tom Riddle.

"Hello Potter." Smirking to himself, the echo of the reformed Dark Lord Voldemort folded his hands behind his back and glanced around the barren chamber, his face twisting into a grimace at the sight. "How long has it been since that night?"

Looking upon the specter of his one time Grand Advisor, Harry couldn't help but smile fondly as he answered. "Near enough of sixty years. I near my eighth decade even as I plot to turn back the hands of time."

"A second chance then? For you, or for those you lost?" Smiling sadly, the specter of Riddle moved forward and placed his hand upon the shoulder of his one time nemesis, the hand actually settling as if it were flesh due to the unification of the Hallows. "Do not think that I've forgotten. You lost them all."

Sighing sadly, Harry moved towards the arch in the center of the room, brushing past the specter of his long lost friend as the final echo of Tom Riddle faded back into the land of the dead.

"The final enemy is mine to best, and I intend to do so... now. Tonight death shall be vanquished." Tears rose in his eyes, silently falling down his face, serving as reminders of what he sought.

Falling silent, Harry made his way towards the archway, his right arm sweeping outwards with the Elder Wand as he silently summoned two other ancient artifacts from deeper in the Department of Mysteries. Watching coldly, he smiled as first the Mirror of Erised, and then the Pensieve of Seoche landed silently on either side of the Veil.

Though few had ever known it, the Veil itself had a name beyond Veil, or Death Arch. It, like the other two items that had just entered the room, bore a name which served only as the reflection of its purpose: the Arch of Thaed.

All in all, what was planned to happen here tonight, would require seven ancient and mystical artifacts, each one powerful in its own right, and each one a piece of a larger puzzle. The Elder Wand, the Ressurection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Mirror of Erised, the Pensieve of Seoche, the Pearl of Anubis, and lastly, the Arch of Thaed.

Each artifact had its own legendary tale, but they all originated from the same family. The family that had hidden itself by splintering off, only for the lines to remerge many years later in the man now standing before the Arch.

First, the three most famous, the so called: "Deathly Hallows." Forged by three brothers who bargained with Death. Or so the legend said.

Second, the Pearl, the Pensieve, and the Mirror. The first of the family's artifacts. The power contained within aided greatly in the conception and creation of the more famous Hallows. Though, these lesser known artifacts were in many ways far more terrible. Two had at one time found themselves within the halls of Hogwarts. While the third had been hidden away within the Peverell's family tomb.

And lastly, the Arch itself. The Veil as it had once been known. Crafted at the end of the journey of the First Three. The Arch served little functional purpose. In the purest sense, it was little more than a conduit, a power supply, a crucible. Elegant, simplistic, and functional. But by itself, very limited, and almost crude.

However, the man who now stood before the Arch, with all seven items united, held the power to unlock its full potential, to achieve anything his heart desired.

Moving forward, Harry dropped his outer cloak, letting it fall to the ground where it settled almost gracefully into the dust. With the outer shadowy garment removed, the shimmering material of the Cloak of Invisibility flared brightly to life as it began to blow in a non-existent breeze, the magical power flowing through the air almost palpable.

Levitating the Mirror of Erised with a flick of the Elder Wand, Harry moved it towards the Arch before smiling sadly as ribbons of sickly violet energy reached out from the stones to wrap around the mirror, pulling it quickly to click into place in the center of the Arch, the tattered remnants of the so called "Veil" falling away as the mirror swelled to fit perfectly into the empty space between the stones.

"Erised, htaed, the desire to traverse the realm of death. Let it be written, let it be done." Violet flames erupted along the outer stones of the Arch, ancient and arcane sigils being revealed, carved long ago into the worn stones. "The first joining of the seven, gathered forth."

Holding his wand arm out, Harry watched as the Resurrection Stone pulled free of the ring upon his finger before floating towards the butt of the Elder Wand and slamming into the wood with the same flash of violet fire, the stone embedding itself into the wand.

"To see death, you must first call it forth. The desire to command the forces of life. Let it be written, let it be done." The Elder Wand erupted in the same flames which now coated the Archway, similar runes appearing and glowing ever brighter as the wand returned to its Master's hand, though the flames didn't diminish.

Holding his free hand out towards the discarded cloak behind him, Harry watched silently as a large glittering egg shaped crystal orb of shimmering blue flew into his grasp, violet flames already alight upon its surface, similar runes visible, but not yet gleaming as brightly as on the other pieces of the puzzle.

Holding the stone out towards the Pensieve, he spoke once more, this time more powerfully as the Pensieve shattered, the stone and silvery liquid within flowing together into a stark white energy which poured into the crystal egg.

"Animus corpus, memento spiritus. The desire to remember the dead, so that they may be called forth anew. So let it be written, so let it be done." The Pearl of Anubis now held within his left hand finally flared to the same brightness as the Arch and the Wand, the three pairs made whole and awaiting only the final joining to begin the ritual.

Releasing the Wand and the Pearl, Harry smirked as they hovered in the air, seemingly supported by the violet flames engulfing them. Removing the Cloak from around his shoulders, the wizened man fought back sobs as he held it out, violet flames engulfing it before pulling it quickly to the Arch, the cloak fusing with the Mirror and hanging between its frame and the Arch, leaving it to hang as a new veil.

This time, he didn't speak, instead he held his hand out towards the Elder Wand and smiled sadly as it flew to his grasp. Holding it out, he watched in amazement as it levitated from his grasp to hover above the keystone of the arch. Slowly, the gnarled wand slid itself into a hollow groove atop the keystone, like a dagger into its sheath, stopping when only the handle remained visible.

Finally, Harry stepped back, watching as the pearl moved of its own accord towards the mirror before vanishing into the surface, its reflection appearing deep within the center as the Philosopher's Stone once had. At last, he watched as the archway pulsed with black lightning coursing throughout the violet flames before finally erupting outwards into violet smoke and reforming as a metal framed mirror with the same dimensions as the previously existing archway.

With no further reason to speak, Harry found himself stepping forward, into the cold metal as the image of a cupboard filled the reflective surface, his second chance had finally come, and he was going to claim it.

With one final breath, he stepped completely through the portal, and into oblivion, meeting only with an endless void of shadows.

Shadows, endless cold, darkness, fire, light, heat, joy, misery. Falling forward and downwards, and sometimes upwards, Harry found himself spiraling through an endless labyrinth of light and dark, twists and turns carrying him further off into more and more obscure corners of reality as he felt his connection to life slowly slip away more and more. "Not like this!"

Feeling the furious rage building within him, he struck outwards, lashing out at reality itself, clinging and clawing, trying to tear some hole in the fabric of existence by which he could cling to its walls and avoid the everlasting chasm. But then, just as the confusion and fury threatened to completely overwhelm him, he found himself standing upright in a black shadowy room.

The results of the portal weren't quite what had been expected. He'd indeed, planned to find himself immediately back inside the cupboard under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive, instead, he appeared to be within some sort of church conference hall filled to the brim with darkness and shadows.

The only source of illumination proved to be the chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, but what drew his attention, was the long conference style table set beneath it, and more interesting than that, the assortment of people gathered around it. All of them were cloaked, with hoods raised to obscure their identity.

Twelve people in all, two at the foot, and five on either side, leaving the lone chair at the head of the table vacant. Knowing that it was intended for him, Harry moved forward and sunk down into it before lacing his fingers upon the table and waiting.

"Harry Potter... the fabled Boy-Who-Lived. The so-called Final Guardian. Lies to feed your legend. When the truth is so much more interesting than what the people once made you out to be. But that's always the way the world turns. The most interesting stories are buried under rather second rate legends." The voice of the one who spoke was ancient, wizened, and coming from directly across from the man being addressed. Though which of the two at the foot of the table spoke, was anyone's guess.

"In much the same way as beings of the supernatural often disguise themselves like some archaic mythological trope." The retort was delivered coldly, without emotion as Harry began spinning his thumbs about one another, adopting a rather disinterested expression as he awaited the explanation that experience had taught him was due after the first piece of a monologue.

"A second chance does not come easily. You didn't think that you would just waltz back through time and space and start over, did you? No. You're not that stupid. You knew there would be a price." One of the two at the foot spoke once more before either or both of them resumed speaking, in truth, it was impossible to tell which of them was speaking, or if both of them were.

"Put simply, Mr Potter, you've got to pay to achieve your aims. We will permit you to carry out your scheme, but, you must shed your memories in order to do so. You will retain the knowledge you have accumulated, but your memories of individuals and events, you have to shed them into the abyss." Silence followed the declaration, stretching on for nearly a full four minutes before the wizened Harry Potter nodded slowly and rose from the table.

"So be it. I was prepared to lose my power and start from scratch, while my memories are precious, they can be replaced." Moving away from the table, back towards the void he'd fallen out of, Harry found himself stopped by a familiar voice.

"Apprentice, do not be so sure. Would you not rather pass forward with your memories intact, or lose them and risk the possibility that you will not rejoin with the same people as you did previous?" Rising from the table, one of the hooded figures discarded his cloak to reveal the wizened and ancient face of Darth Andros, the Dark Lord of the Sith who had mentored Harry as a child.

"This is about more than me, Mentor. I will admit, a large part of my motivation is selfish want. The desire to reclaim what I consider mine. But more than that, more than that, I want to have a chance to set things right. And I don't need my memories for that, only my morals." Speaking softly, Harry found himself shaking slightly as his words rang out, showing for the first time, how much damage the final war had inflicted upon him.

"And what is it that you intend to do? Or rather, that you hope you will do when motivated by your so called "morals?" The cold drawl of Andros' tone was not overtly hostile, but it was far from the caring warmth he'd once shared with his student in days long past.

"I'm going to ensure that the world survives. And that the Empire stretches out once more to the stars. You know as well as I, some things are guaranteed to happen, such as my finding you and learning all you have to teach me." The silence that rang out after his declaration was a welcome one, until it was broken by another of the hooded figures rising as Andros vanished in a swirl of black flames, the nod of his approval the last thing seen.

"Anyone else care to speak, or shall I just go about my business?" No answer came to meet the coldly delivered question, instead, the remaining individuals began one by one lowering their hoods to reveal themselves as the swirls of Oblivion began to swarm around the wizened and aged Potter of Potter.

First, a girl who at one time had been vastly different than she now appeared. Her flesh was sickly white, every vein standing out in harsh detail, sickly purple circles surrounded her eyes, giving the impression of dark shadowed makeup, angry molten red eyes glared out, and finally, a dark chocolate brown hair fell over her back, silky and smooth, but tangled with its own waviness.

"Master..." The tender whispered word of worship from the lips of Harry's former apprentice brought a dark smile to his lips as he nodded in response.

"Bitch." Glancing around, Harry smirked as the faces of the others were revealed, he spoke to each in turn. "Gabrielle, Fleur, Bellatrix, Draco, Riddle, Tracey, Daphne, Astoria, Hestia, Flora." Smirking to each of the revealed people in turn, Harry threw himself backwards, falling into the abyss and watching his long dead servants vanish in swirls of ebony flames.

'Memories of the mind can be lost, but memories of the spirit are forever.'


	2. A Warm Feeling

5 O'clock AM of the day, July 25th of the year, 1991. Number 4 Privet drive was, like most mornings during this hour, asleep. For three of its occupants, this morning's rest was peaceful and calm, much like one would expect from a contended family. For the fourth occupant however, rest was elusive, and indeed, unattainable on this morning.

Harry Potter, the young and often abused ten-soon-to-be-eleven year old thrashed wildly upon his tiny cot as black flames began to swirl across his forehead. Even as they formed, the flames focused around a ragged lightning bolt shaped scar. As the young boy's back arched upwards, the scar split open at the apex of a silent scream tearing itself free from the throat of the unconscious child.

A massive emerald flash flooded the entire sky above Number 4 as black flames shot outwards from the scar of Harry Potter. Swirling and joining with the other flames, the dark energy finally condensed into a robed man with a raised hood, kneeling over the child. Reaching out a hand, the man pressed a long skeletal finger to the bleeding scar and watched from beneath his hood as the flesh withered and the scar turned more ragged, more angry.

"There is no fate but that which I take for myself. Or perhaps, what we take for ourselves. My young little friend." A terribly cold and high pitched voice dripped from beneath the hood, almost as if the words themselves were composed entirely of thick oil.

"The future is yours, little one, and the past, is mine." Pressing his finger more intently to the scar, the man gave a cruel sounding hiss as the flesh tattered even further, the scar openly bleeding as it deepened before finally seeming to settle. No blood flowed after a few moments, but instead of the previous pink tinge, the lightning bolt scar was now an angry furious red, carved far deeper into the flesh than it had been, penetrating all the way to the musculature.

Leaning down, the hooded man spoke once more, the hiss in his voice growing crueler, more vicious as he spoke to the child laying before him. "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon mine works, ye mighty, and... despair."

Pulling quickly back, the man pressed the flat of his palm to the lightning scar upon Harry's forehead before hissing as emerald flames poured from his flesh into the wound he'd just worsened. As he watched, he spoke softly. "Remember, what you were meant to forget." With one final massive green flash, the cupboard was once more empty save for young Harry Potter, and, as his dreams returned and began to warp and morph into sickening visions, a letter settled at the foot of his cot, a letter with answers, as well as many questions.

* * *

*****TIME SKIP*****

* * *

"Up! Get up! Now! Up!" A hard banging on the door of the cupboard, coupled with a harsh squawking sort of yelling heralded the awakening of one Harry Potter. Rolling to the edge of his cot and reaching around for a moment, he blinked when his fingers closed around his glasses, the sudden realization that he could see without them falling into place.

Before this new revelation could settle in, the irritated rapping of Number Four's resident horse woman resumed. "Up boy! Up or I'll have your uncle beat you again and salt the stripes! Up!" Giving one final rap on the door, Aunt Petunia, or, as Harry preferred to call her when he was alone, Aunt Prune, moved away from the door.

Throwing his covers off, Harry noted the letter that went flying against the wall of his tiny cupboard, but before he had any real time to comprehend it, a strange warmth filled his veins, images entering his mind alongside a compulsion. A compulsion to set a new standard at home.

Raising his hand, the young green eyed boy watched in fascination as his glasses lifted into the air, as if the strange feeling he was enjoying were some form of magic. The brief euphoria was cut short as the image of his scar was reflected back in the glasses lens. Worse than it had ever looked, as though someone had carved over it time and time again with a blade.

"What happ-" His thoughts were cut short as the door to his cupboard was wrenched open, and a large ham sized hand reached in and snatched him out, throwing him to the floor as his hippopotamus of an uncle glared at him, vein already pulsing in his temple. Harry liked when that vein pulsed, he always wondered how far he'd have to push to make it rupture.

"Boy! Why haven't you made it to the kitchen? Your poor Aunt is stuck making the breakfast while you sit on your fat good for nothing arse!" As per usual, Uncle Vernon's voice reached a louder and louder peak with every word he yelled, but this time, a strange instinct overcame the object of his rage.

The warmth, the compulsion, the feeling, the instinct, whatever it was called, it sang to him, gave him ideas. Raising his hand, Harry curled his fingers and watched in mild fascination as his uncle levitated from the ground just as easily as his glasses had. Tightening his fingers into a fist, he watched in a sort of twisted awe as Vernon's hands went to his throat, gasps all that was audible as the man was seemingly choked by an invisible hand of magic.

"Well, dear uncle, it seems that there's something you've yet to tell me." Harry had no reasoning behind why he'd said what he'd said, only what the warmth seemed to guide him to do, but he wasn't about to fight it, not now that he'd seen what it could let him do. Flicking his wrist as he forced himself to his feet, the frail and malnourished youth watched in sadistic glee as the whale of a man went flying through the kitchen door, shards of glass digging into the blubber from the impact.

Stepping into the kitchen as he heard Petunia's scream from the crash, Harry couldn't help the shiver that ran through him, the absolute pleasure he took in hearing her shrill cry. Stepping carefully over the shards of glass, he extended his hand again, this time the warm feeling inside of him condensing down into his chest, focusing around his heart, and he knew then what it was. Power, pure, unrefined, absolute power, waiting for its Master to give it form and purpose.

"Let's have a moment and just... talk." Smirking, Harry flexed his fingers, the power within him flaring brightly as his aunt and uncle were immobilized. Vernon sprawled out upon the kitchen floor, glass embedded within weeping gashes in his flesh, and Petunia with her hands over her mouth and her back thrown opposite her front like she was frozen in some comedic over the top shriek.

At that point, Harry felt something overcome him. Flicking his eyes around the kitchen, he let his lips curl into a defiant sneer when he noticed his fat cousin Dudley, or "Mummy's Sweetums Dudders Poo" as he preferred to be called, was seated at the table, busily stuffing his face with bacon, and fully oblivious to the goings on.

Lifting his hand again, Harry shivered as he felt the same warmth, the same instinct as before flow through him, pleasure coursing through his veins as he wielded this strange power newly awakened, his scar openly bleeding as he levitated Petunia's frozen form off the ground.

Flinging his wrist, the baggy clothed boy sent his aunt flying across the kitchen table, smashing into "Dudders" and sending his plate of bacon crashing to the floor. Before either could react, Harry lifted his hand once more, this time lifting the both his aunt and cousin in front of him as the hunger within grew stronger. "How far can I push this... I wonder..." As he spoke aloud, Harry envisioned a great wall of fire surrounding Vernon, and was pleasantly surprised when his uncle erupted in flames.

Grinning darkly to himself as he curled his fingers, he watched in great pleasure as the flames died as quickly as they'd erupted.

Heavily singed, bleeding profusely, and frozen in place, Vernon Dursley for the first time in his life reconsidered his stance on his nephew. Namely, the wisdom in antagonizing someone who had the power to kill, simply by uttering a few funny words and waving a stick around. He'd thought that without the stick there was no threat, but oh, how he wished he had known his own folly. The pain he was in couldn't couldn't compare to anything he remembered, and the fact he was unable to move or scream made it all the worse.

Throwing his hand forward, the green eyed boy wiped blood away from his eyes, his scar gushing as he watched his uncle's left arm begin to burn once again, black oily smoke rising from the flesh as it was consumed. Closing his fingers, Harry laughed as the flames extinguished before he clapped his hands, all three Dursleys slamming into one another, Petunia and Dudley landing atop Vernon's fresh burns. Petunia for her part wished she could move, just so that she could vomit at the sight of Vernon's arm, charred to the bone.

With a sardonic pleasure he'd never experienced before, Harry moved to the table and took Vernon's spot, his eyes lazily drifting over his immobilized relatives as he held his hand out, a few pieces of bacon flying to his outstretched fingers before he quickly consumed them, seemingly unphased by the blood gushing from his forehead. "You know Petunia, it really is a shame you didn't tell me about this wonderful talent. Why, just imagine what we could've done together. And now that I've learned about it, just imagine what the neighbors will say."

Smiling, he curled his finger, roughly causing his aunt to be rolled to face him as he clapped his hands to his face in a mockery of shock. "Oh my! Mrs. Dursley! Why did Dudley just set fire to my home? Why did he stab a kitchen knife through my daughter's eye socket?" Dropping his hands, Harry rose up and walked to his aunt, his lips curling into a dangerously sweet smile as he bent down and whispered. "He did it, because I told him to."

Shivering at the warmth building within him, Harry quickly adopted a false childlike wonder as he spoke to his immobilized relatives.

"I just kind of think things, and they happen. Isn't it great?" Harry felt himself choke on his final word, his next statement being rewritten completely as some strange influence overcame his mind, his voice no longer even sounding like Harry Potter.

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me... I can make them hurt... if I want."A brief moment of silence followed those words before Harry continued speaking, this time in his own voice. "And I do, very much, want."

Lifting his hand, Harry watched with sinister glee as his relatives were all three released from immobilization and then levitated, the screams of fright perfectly complimented by Vernon's groans of pain. Smiling to himself as blood poured down his face, the last Potter curled a single finger, levitating Vernon higher until the blades of the rapidly spinning kitchen fan finally caught his scorched arm, slicing through the burnt sinew and shattering the charred bones. In the process, Harry found his punishment was eliciting a spine tingling shriek from Petunia as the anguished cries of her husband ripped through the air.

"STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Petunia's shrieks were silenced quickly as Harry glared, a large dish rag jerking free of the drawer and flying to shove itself into her mouth. As the raven haired youth stared out through the curtain of blood pouring down his face, he felt the warmth suddenly vanish from his veins, his relatives landing in a pile on the floor as a robed man stepped out of the shadows.

"Enough Harry." Raising his hand, the robed man sent all three Dursleys crashing into the stove, watching with mild interest as the impact shattered the gas line that supplied the appliance.

With a flick of his wrist, the strange man sent young Harry flying out onto the back lawn before a jet of red light slammed into the raven haired boy. Leaving the house through the same door he'd flung Harry Potter through, the robed man flung his hand back towards Number Four, a ball of jet black flames flying to impact the stove. The explosion set off by the ignition of the gas line was enough to shake the ground as all three Dursleys were consumed. As he moved into position, a dark laugh came from beneath his cloak as a horrid and terrible screaming noise filled the air. The signal that the wards over top Number 4 had collapsed as the last piece of Lily Evans' bloodline was extinguished.

The figure watched from above, shielded by the low hanging clouds as young Harry Potter fell comatose, the ringing pops signaling the arrival of a team of wizards. "Welcome home, Harry Potter. Welcome home." As he vanished in a swirl of black flames, the figure's cold oily laugh echoed outwards, sending the team of wizards quickly looking about, wands at the ready.

"Sir, area appears secure. Accidental magical outburst appears to be the cause of the explosion." The most junior member of the recovery team adjusted his bright crimson cloak as she rose from examining the unconscious Harry Potter, her direct superior nodding without turning away from the burning house.

"Would take quite a bit of emotional strain to produce such a violent outburst. Take him to the secure wing at headquarters and prepare him." Glancing at the young woman who had addressed him, the dark skinned captain brushed a lock of silvery hair out of his eye, the stark difference in color between hair and skin doing a wondrous job of highlighting his age.

Raising her right fist to be level with her heart, the junior member bowed low at the waist before scooping up Harry Potter and vanishing with a soft crack. As soon as she was gone, the remaining members reached into their robes and pulled out masks of tarnished copper, the dull green seeming to absorb, rather than reflect the sunlight.

After the last mask was firmly in place over its owner's face, the captain divided the group into teams, one for each side of the street and sent up a massive ward, large enough to conceal the entire area. Downside being, it would last for an hour at most. "Kill everyone, and torch everything. We need to give the old fool a reason to worry. If he suspects Death Eaters it will remove suspicion from... others."

For the first time in a decade, the muggle world felt the full wrath of wizards. Massive waves of fiendfyre washed over the entirety of Privet Drive, consuming every home, every garden, every man, woman, and child. Finally, with a flick of his wrist, the Captain sent up a cloud of poisonous green smoke that congealed into an image of a skull and serpent, the serpent acting as the tongue of the desiccated human head.

"Moriarty, alert the aurors." With a series of cracks, the entirety of the wizarding team vanished, the ward shattering quickly thereafter to allow the scene of carnage and mayhem to be noticed by all, and more importantly, allowing the warning to be seen.

* * *

*****SCENE CHANGE*****

* * *

"Sweet little baby, don't say a word, mummy's going to pluck you like a bird. And when your painful task is done, mummy's going to put you on the run. And when your freedom you seek to gain, mummy's going to put you in great pain." The woman who'd apparated away from Privet Drive with Harry Potter sat beside the bed she'd placed him in, a sinister giggle escaping her with each line she spoke.

The dark underground stone chamber did a swell job of making it impossible to tell how long she'd sat with him, and so, she passed the time in her favorite way, perverting harmless rhymes into cruel promises of pain. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Or so was said."

Humming to herself, the woman fixed the concealing hood of her cloak before pulling a tarnished copper mask from within her robes and fixing it over her face. With an airy giggle she resumed her self amusement, this time by tracing her fingers over the raven haired boy's face. "Itty bitty baby, so sweet."

Leaning closer, the details of the mask caught in the torchlight beside the bed, the features strongly reminiscent of the funeral masks of Ancient Egyptian Pharaohs. Tracing her hands down the emaciated eleven year old's form, she smirked, the baggy tattered clothes doing little to stop her amusing herself. "I wonder how beautiful you will be when you bathe in the blood of your first kill."

"Jones! If you're quite done, we do have a schedule to keep. Though if you'd prefer to prostrate yourself before the Elders and tell them that you were too busy toying with our future, I'd be all too happy to observe." Stepping from the shadows, the same man who'd ordered the onslaught at Privet Drive approached the bed, his tarnished copper mask still firmly in place and his tattered hood raised over his head.

"Najjar, must you always be such a thorn?" Sighing to herself, Jones gripped the lower hem of the Potter boy's shirt and pulled it upwards, roughly jerking the threadbare garment off his bony frame and tossing it aside before gently running her slender fingers over the boy's visible ribs. "He's really very pretty."

"Only if you're impressed by those who are meant to walk among the Duat." Najjar moved forward and stood beside Jones, watching as she gripped the edge of the boy's pants and jerked them open, the button snapping free from the worn threads. "Let me help." Pushing Jones aside, Najjar gripped the boy's pants and roughly jerked them downwards before slipping them off his emaciated body with a swift tug.

"Why Najjar, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were excited by the prospect of seeing a little ten year old penis." Raising a hand to her mask, Jones made a show of covering the sculpted mouth and giggling.

"Hardly, I simply don't wish us to miss the time table. After all, we're supposed to see to it that the next message is delivered upon the boy's eleventh birthday. We've six days, and a lot of work to accomplish in that short time. Now, if you don't mind.." With a slap to the back of the woman's head, Najjar proceeded to then grip the worn and ratty boxers upon the raven haired youth and tear them off with a swift jerk before inspecting the young male's nude body.

"Seems we have our work cut out for us." Jones placed a hand upon the unconscious boy's left thigh and gave it a firm squeeze, her fingers accentuating the lack of sturdy musculature or even fat upon the boy-who-lived. "On the plus side..." Tracing a finger over the boy's knee, she gave a low sigh, the very faint scar under her finger becoming more pronounced as the skin around it stretched from her touch.

"Yes, on the plus side, it will aid in our message." Raising a twisted and gnarled wand, Najjar pointed it squarely at the young boy's heart before whispering, almost lovingly. "Crucio Maxima."


End file.
